Rarer Than A Can of Dandelion And Burdock
by dorkickassmeadowes
Summary: "He was quiet for a moment, and wondered where the quiet Hannah of yesteryear had gone. You had to be confident to be a barmaid, he supposed, all that talking and laughing with strangers. She'd grown, she'd adapted, and she'd never looked more…beautiful wasn't the word, but she made his heart do somersaults in the best possible way." abbottom one shot


**author's note: written for hannah x neville week on tumblr. i don't own it.**

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"How were they today?"

"The usual," Neville replied, and Hannah nodded sympathetically. He always looked so sad when he came from St Mungos. The lights in his brown eyes had dimmed, and she never knew how to brighten them.

"Pint?"

"Please," he nodded, and she smiled broadly.

"Not at work today?" she asked him, waving her wand like the bottles and pumps behind the bar were an orchestra and she the director. Neville shook his head.

"Day off," he told her, "for, uh…_y'know_…."

Hannah waved her wand again, and a pint glass slid down the bar to where he sat, shoulders hunched and elbows resting against the scratched wood.

"Yeah," she said, "I know."

"I hate it," he said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them, "I mean – I loved it, to start with, after the…the war, y'know? I really did…I really, really loved it, but I don't, ah-"

"You don't feel that way anymore…" she finished for him. He sipped his drink, and the foam made a moustache above his upper lip.

"Yeah," he said, wiping the foam away, "I don't want to be a hero anymore. Is that bad?"

Hannah flicked her wand towards the dirty mugs, and they rose in unison, and flew in a straight, neat line to the grimy sink.

"Not bad," Neville said, "for someone who thought they were too stupid to take exams."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm not Hermione Granger," she laughed, "but I'm alright at this sort of thing." She paused, and Neville tapped his fingers on the glass in an attempt to break the silence. "But anyway," she said finally, "I'm not the important one here-"

"I think you're important!" he protested, but she waved him away.

"No, no, I meant – point is, is that you don't want to be an Auror anymore?"

He put his face in his hands, and she fought the urge to jump over the bar (_not that she'd be able to do that anyway, but even so_) and comfort him.

"Oh no, it's alright," she soothed, patting his elbow, "it's alright, Neville."

"I've mucked everything up," he said, voice muffled by his palms, "I made my gran so_proud_ and now-"

"She's still going to be proud of you," Hannah told him, hand still on his elbow (_the cotton of his shirt was so soft, oh Merlin, she was blushing_), "of course she'll still be proud of you! You killed You-Know-Who's snake! You led the rebellion! She hasn't forgotten, I-" her voice trembled a little, "_I _haven't forgotten."

He looked up, round cheeks flushed. There was a light hanging directly above her head, and the warm glow of the lamp illuminated her soft features and made her messy blonde hair shine. She looked like an angel.

"_You_ haven't forgotten?" he said in a small voice. She nodded shyly. The look in his eyes made a blush rise to her cheeks. No one had ever looked at her like that before.

"Of course not," she told him, "You carried us all that year. Even if you stop being an Auror, and do…something else, whatever it is you want to do-"

"Herbology," he mumbled.

"Herbology! – doing that won't diminish the importance or greatness of what you've done before, see? Your gran's going to be just as proud of you whether you work for the Ministry, or whether you work for Aberforth in the Hog's Head."

"Are you-?"

"I'm sure. I'm positive."

She was suddenly grateful for all the pep talks she'd heard in the squashy arm chair of the Hufflepuff Common Room. Her House might not have won the Cup very often, but they motivated like no one else, that much she was certain of.

"What did your dad think…when you gave up Healer training…to work here?"

For a second they might've been fifteen again, Neville shyly showing Hannah how to peel a Shrivelfig, and quietly asking her about her mum. She fiddled with the ends of her hair. The mugs clinked together as they stacked themselves into a pyramid, but Hannah didn't look round. She was picking at the peeling wood of the bar.

"He was alright about it," she mumbled, "I mean – he understood, I think, the pressures of…I dunno, after the war it was hard, wasn't it? And I didn't want to – I mean, he got it, y'know? It was like that after the, uh, the first one too." She looked up, "Making decisions based on what you would've done then, instead of now. Does that make sense? It probably doesn't, I-"

"No, no," Neville nodded, "it makes total sense. So…so you think my gran will be okay with it?"

"Neville," Hannah told him emphatically, "you have spent the last _five years _of your life fighting the Darkest wizards of all time. Whatever you do now, you'll still be a hero. Do you understand?"

He was quiet for a moment, and wondered where the quiet Hannah of yesteryear had gone. You had to be confident to be a barmaid, he supposed, all that talking and laughing with strangers. She'd grown, she'd adapted, and she'd never looked more…beautiful wasn't the word, but she made his heart do somersaults in the best possible way.

"Yeah," he said eventually, "yeah, I understand…"

"Right then," she smiled, "another pint?"

"What time does your um…thingy, finish?" he asked thickly. _Thingy? What in the name of Merlin's bollocks is wrong with you, Longbottom?_

"_Oh_, um….it actually," she mumbled, and he fought the urge to laugh, because they, the pair of them, were _ridiculous_, "it actually finished about ten…fifteen minutes ago, but…well, actually, I always finish before you arrive and I wanted to…well, I don't want to miss the opportunity to, um-"

"You stay after your shift finishes," he whispered, "for _me_?"

She nodded.

"Right."

"Yeah."

He beamed, and the lights in his eyes grew brighter.


End file.
